


HolidayLock

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Era, Christmas, Drama, M/M, Modern Era, Romance, Smut, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28113420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: A collection of Sherlock Chistmassy and New Year fics with Christmas centered themes. Multiple pairings. Some stories are set in the modern era, some in the Victorian era. Some are crack fics, some PWP while others are a bit on the serious side
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, others
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. Lethal Weapon (Candy Canes)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HamishWH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamishWH/gifts), [IantoLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IantoLives/gifts).



Sherlock was a bit upset.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out when Sherlock is upset. Obvious reasons – He always makes a lot of noise when he’s not in the best of moods and a simple act of getting his tea from the kitchen involves a rough push and screech of his chair’s legs on the floor, then something knocked down that was simply ‘in his way’ to the kitchen and finally a shattered saucer which he had failed to pick up properly. That day, December 23rd, he was most definitely upset and making double the noise while performing some experiment apparently.

Bing-Bang-Boom-Crash-Bonk-Clang-Tring-Scrunch-Tap-Tappity-Tap-Clank-Ding-Dong-Thud-Splatter – One could hear all sorts of sounds as chairs and tables and beakers and jars and bubbling solutions caused a merry little cacophony in our little Baker Street flat. I looked up from my work and frowned, “And I thought I was the one upset because I had to work right up to Christmas Eve. All because of the days I take off to be part of our cases around the year. Naturally I am made to repay the kindness of my fellow doctors who stand-in for me several times earlier, by filling-in for them during this festive season.” 

“And which part of this do I not know or _did I complain_ about?”

“Huh? That _blue_ of a mood heh?”

“It’s the case Jawn.”

“Well, I suppose I can at least hear about it. I’m sorry that I couldn’t participate in it due to my commitments at the clinic. But I suppose it’s solved, isn’t it? You told me day before yesterday the culprit had been arrested and remanded in police custody.”

“Nah, that’s okay….. about the absence I mean! I know you have a profession and need to be there…. And it’s true, this case _is solved._ But I have no bloody idea how the murder was committed. In the absence of the murder weapon the culprit will go scot-free Jawn!”

I could understand why he was upset. Leaving a case half-way or inconclusive wasn’t his way of settling it for good. It was a murder, of the patriarch of an upper middle-class family living in a spanking new town house on the newly posh Boynton street. The victim was a seventy five year old man who had been found dead under the Christmas tree but none other than his six grandkids, all aged between five and fourteen, barely a day before his family had landed up at the new house to celebrate Christmas with him and his wife.

The murderer turned out to be the housekeeper, a lady who was with them for almost ten years now, and she had been arrested. But a motive had not been established yet and the murder weapon not discovered. The case was on very flimsy grounds and she could get away with it if sufficient evidence hadn’t been presented before the court.

I took out a bag of candy canes and placed it before me. I had a sweet tooth and it was one of the few pleasures I didn’t deny myself. It looked silly doing this anywhere other than the comfort of our flat so I had this candy only in the privacy of our living room or bedroom.

And it was the bedroom I took him to a little later when I found his frustrations had reached a proportion which couldn’t be controlled by a little talk. Instead we needed to make love, an act he didn’t indulge himself in very often but when he did he came out of the act a new person almost. He felt refreshed, energized and happy! So, without any further ado, I went on to remove his robe and pajamas and pleasure him as much as I could with my hands and mouth. Much as I adored being inside him, I knew his chagrin at getting straight to the act. “Even the best dinner need a bit of prior preps my dear Watson,” he told me once, “A drink, a nibble, an appetizer etc.”

I took him in my mouth and he responded so beautifully that the effort and delay was worth it. I knew he loved dirty talk as well (he would be dead before he admitted it but then he’d be dead before he confessed he actually looked forward to our Sunday morning sex), so I kept telling him how sexy he looked and how he turned me on in a roomful of people with a mere stare in my direction! As I alternated between calling his phallus pretty, loaded with semen, fitting it right between my lips and of course, comparing it to a candy cane as I sucked on it, I felt his entire body jerk.

Moments later he came, deep down my throat, howling and growling in his usual manner. It made me so impossibly hurt I started to hurt down there but…. Something prevented me from a spontaneous orgasm. He had successfully ejaculated into my mouth, all of his juices. I didn’t mind fellating him but swallowing was not my thing. It took me some effort to not gag and keep it all down. But down I kept it and managed to plunge inside.

Fifteen minutes later we were a mass of sweaty limbs and soft pants on the bed, covered awkwardly and partially with a thin sheet. The nip in the air didn’t feel bad, not after the tropical heat of our passionate lovemaking.

I had my hand on his thigh, stroking it softly, feeling his now-soft cock against my wrist, when he unraveled the mystery of the latest murder case and in a manner that left me astounded and dumbstruck.

“Jawn, candy cane!”

I promptly gave him one. “You like them too, I see!” 

He began to laugh and, offended to some extent, I turned towards him with a cross look. “What do you find so bloody funny eh Holmes? Sometimes you impertinence shocks me. Just now you were screaming for my organ and now you’re laughing at me over a candy cane?!?”

“Oh please Jawn, it’s not laughing at you but the way I discovered the murder weapon while you were fellating me…. Which was amazing by the way!”

That was when I realized he wasn’t joking or teasing or mocking me. He never said anything about sex once we were done with sex, strange as it might sound. He preferred for sex to be this unspoken, undisclosed, undiscussed topic between us, almost as if talking about it would jinx it in some way. Anyways, when he said he enjoyed the fellatio I did feel flattered enough to forgive him his earlier offense and pay him full attention. “You know my dear Watson,” he lit up his pipe and pulled the blanket over his feet, which had begun to get cold, “Some weapons can be easily devised, like one can break a glass and use a shard to stab somebody, there are other weapons that could be improvised from their original shape. Like this candy cane!”

As we were talking/arguing, he had been sucking on the candy cane. It was a disturbingly hot sight so I had resolutely kept his eyes away from him. Or else I knew I’d start all over again. Now I realized he had sucked on the straight end and it looked pointy and sharp. “Why this side, the tip… it looks like…..”

  
“It does, doesn’t it? Like one of your surgical instruments.”

  
“Yes. The one we use to take out small particles from wounds and to move tissue.”

Sherlock snorted, “This is the murder weapon. She used this to…..”

“Stab him? That’s a bit impossible my dear. The cane is simply not strong enough to kill someone with one blow. It is likely to break.”

“Not if the pointy end was poisoned and that little stab or poke pricked the skin and injected the venom straight into the victim’s blood,” Sherlock declared triumphantly, “I suppose the autopsy would also prove that he was poisoned and death occurred due to that. Now that’s why you should have been there. If you were there instead of the stupid and inept police doctor you might have even told me about this on the spot. Now let’s dress and pay Mr. Lestrade a visit?”

I got up. Then I heard suckling sounds and grinned. One little chance at teasing him which I was reluctant to give up on, especially it was such a rare and hard-to-find opportunity. “Yes I suppose we should. But does this mean you will keep fellating the candy cane all along?”

Sherlock took the candy cane out of his mouth, had the decency to blush slightly, before he squarely put it back in his mouth and said, “Only until we are out of the door. By the way, I do hope we have a few more?”


	2. The Aristocrats (Pine Tree)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Victorian era, John gets invited to Sherlock's family home

“What’s so funny?”

Sherlock asked John as both men sat reading letters on a cold winter morning, while sipping tea that Mrs. Hudson had just brought in. She had also brought in a sheaf of letters for the Baker Street men and while that was quite common, given Sherlock’s popularity within the country and abroad and John being quite sought after as a ‘writer’, the mail in that December morning contained more personal messages than professional ones or fan letters.

John was reading one of such letters. “My friend Gus, full name Lord Augustine Breitling Chamberlain, a Viscount and an aristocrat, has invited us to spend the New Year weekend with him. His estate is in the Millerworth village that stands on the edge of Yorkshire county, about two and half hours ride or an hour and half by train. To arrive on Thursday morning and stay till Monday, the second of January, catch the morning train at 10 am after breakfast. He has given a full description of his estate, along with an approximate value attached to it. He went to medical school with me and qualified as a general practitioner. I went into the army and after returning home, completed my course as a general surgeon, as you know. He on the other hand practiced for only a year and half as an intern at a London hospital and went there.”

“Now he lives like a true Lord, does nothing, checks accounts and profits once a week, throws a dinner party once a month and a ball every spring and autumn. Holidays twice a year, once abroad, often across the Atlantic.”

John chuckled, “Oh yes. You are so right. Last year he went to Chicago apparently. The ball is also spot on. I used to tease him saying the seasons don’t change unless there is a ball on the Brindle estate, which is what his estate hall is called. Brindle Hall. Don’t ask me why.”

“I won’t. Instead I shall tell you.” 

“Oh! Go on!!”

“That would be the middle name of the patriarch who built it, about a hundred years earlier, maybe a great grandfather. Close of the eighteenth century?”

“Why my dear Holmes you’re absolutely right!!! I know this because his great grandfather shared my name. John is a common name you see. John Brindle Chamberlain. He was the last of the Chamberlains who was without a title but also the last one who actually worked.”

“Yes, he would have amassed the wealth, then his son got the title and started living off the estate and treasury,” the detective concluded. Sherlock was usually quite vain about displaying his talent of deducing accurate facts on a person’s life, habits and even secrets and he was never bashful before John when it came to accepting the praise that came for it. Talent like him needed an audience, however small, even if it was one person, and John never failed to appreciate. “You really know someone by just hearing their name and title, you’re amazing Holmes,” he said, “Yes, the value of his estate, which I admit has been managed pretty well and kept profitable, is nearly a million pounds.”

Sherlock had lapsed into silence, thoughtful silence. John noticed that he too had an open letter in his right hand. He chose not to ask about it immediately.

Instead he continued about the family estate and household of his friend. “Guess how many servants he has? Thirty of them, all thirty of them on his hundred acre estate. Of course the estate stands on one edge of the village and he practically owns the entire village too. Anyways, just for his house and estate he has a three chambermaids, two lady’s maids, a head housemaid and a housekeeper to manage them all. There are two errands lads and porters, three footmen, two valets and a butler above them. And that’s not all, there is a head cook, an assistant cook, two kitchen maids, two scullery maids. Stable-keeper and his two grooms, groundskeeper and two assistants and I suppose an estate steward as well.”

He had forgotten about the children’s governess and a nursemaid and was expecting Sherlock to correct him but strangely the detective didn’t. He remained strangely quiet. John was about to ask him if he was okay and if he was even listening when the detective broke his silence. “I bet they have a real Christmas tree, standing proudly before their marble porch in the midst of their driveway.”

“So _you were listening_! Yes. _Yes!!_ Honestly I am not a revolutionary or something but I find the excesses of our aristocracy a bit too affected and wasteful. I mean, he isn’t even a Duke or…..”

“People find gainful employment, sustained employment with decent wages in such households Jawn,” Sherlock said, showing a softer side that intrigued John. He thought of asking him why he was suddenly talking on behalf of a class that he openly mocked and ridiculed for their idleness and snooty manners, their general lack of intelligence and inability to do anything meaningful other than charity balls and garden parties and endless luncheons, but something stopped him. Instead he asked a different question.

“So we’re going to accept this invite? Set out on the 29th and back on January second?”

“No.”

“We won’t? Why? Do you have another commitment?”

“Yes I do.”

“In that case Sherlock, if you wish to attend that and let me attend this one. I know we are one unit and it’s only fair we both go somewhere together but if we have conflicting schedules over the holidays then maybe it’s best that we spend Christmas together and then split up and….”

“NO.”

“No?”

“Of course not, what a thing to even-even ask at this stage,” Sherlock huffed loudly, his slicked back hair falling on his face in that moment of forceful declaration and excitement, “How can you say we shall be spending our holidays apart? I mean, if there is a case and I need someone to help…. I mean just to tag along…. Well, what I really mean is you don’t tag along but you value add….. sometimes at least.” He ignored John’s grin and snorted, rolling his shoulders and sitting down on his chair with such impact that the teacup on the table before him almost fell off, “Unless of course some of your friends and old acquaintances are more important for you and you can’t turn them down at all!”

“What are you talking about?” John smiled knowingly. _Darling Sherlock, always lost for words when it came to emotions or just telling me ‘I need you_ ’. “Of course I am coming with you,” he added and noted the relief on his lover and flat-mate’s face, “Wherever you have been invited, we shall go together. I can always tell my friend we’ll visit him later, a month or two later, towards the end of winter or onset of spring.”

“Um…. Okay, good….”

“I think you’re missing a word.”

“Thanks Jawn.”

“Splendid! Where are we going and when do we set off for that journey then?”

Sherlock didn’t look all too cheerful despite John’s assurance that he was going to spend the holidays with him. He seemed a bit awkward, a little unprepared for what was coming up next. “I shall ask Mrs. Hudson to pack your bag,” John remarked, “And if you tell me the place I can book the tickets and all that, organize our travel, if that’s what’s making you uncomfortable.”

“UNCOMFORTABLE?” Sherlock spoke so loudly that John jumped a little. “Who says I am uncomfortable?” The sleuth threw it at John in a manner of challenge, “I am absolutely, completely comfortable and ready for this. But yeah, all the help you mentioned will be appreciated. Tickets to Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire, on the 30th of December we part by the morning train at 7 am. Breakfast there, at 9 am and I think we should be able to make it.”

“But who…..?” John was about to ask but Sherlock had already left the room by then.

***

Eventually John got to know where they were headed when they were on that train. Accompanying them was none other than Mycroft Holmes, who even had a valet traveling with him. John and Mycroft got along well, even though John found him too impeccable in his manners and ways to be real or loveable in any way. He was like that elegant but distant fresco painting on the wall that you would admire but can’t spend much time with except to stare at it and worship it silently. He was too holier-than-thou and too much of a stiff-upper-lip British society gentleman.

“We are going to visit your family home, your mother?” John exclaimed when he learned of their destination. He was excited but also surprised. He had no idea Sherlock had a family aside from his elder brother and that too was discovered only two years ago. About his childhood and background the detective had been reticent, almost secretive.

They were in a first class compartment and the valet was there, so the elder Holmes quickly sent the man out on the pretext of some work and explained, “Yes Dr. Watson, we do have family. We are mostly normal people, albeit with a little extra intelligence and a little extra money. I bet Sherlock has never spoken about his inheritance either, has he? Well, Mother has called us to sort that out and ensure Sherlock, me, our cousin and mummy’s brother, no one is deprived of their share. Our country house is in Huntingdon so that’s where we are headed. By the way, the reason we have all studied in Cambridge as students is because it was close by…. It has been sort of a family tradition over four generations.”

John gave a look towards Sherlock who still had that unusually gloomy look on his face. Or was it unease? John wondered why but didn’t ask because Mycroft was right there and whenever they were in one room he often answered on Sherlock’s behalf. ‘

And John wanted the answer from Sherlock, not Mycroft.

***

The town was small but neat, pretty and quite prosperous. The carriage sent for them were drawn by four horses, had a family insignia on it and was a closed, luxury coach. John didn’t think too much of that. If Mycroft was here, he must have organized for it.

That man was famous for his refined and expensive tastes.

But as the town ended and the carriage slowed down, John was in for a surprise of a lifetime. The main road that led out of town cut through the meadows and after half a mile he saw two cottages on the left and a huge country estate on the right. John wondered which one of the two pretty cottages belonged to Sherlock’s family. One was a homestead, the other one was slightly larger and had a couple of floors but not much of land around it. But then, to his utter amazement, their carriage turned to the right and went through the enormous gates that led them straight into…… Holmes Hall????!!!!!

“But-But-But….”

“Over there Jawn,” Sherlock whispered, pointing at a huge pine tree “Our very own outdoor Christmas tree, right before the porch and in the middle of the driveway cul-de-sac. For better or worse, _I too am an aristocrat from a landowning family_.”

John saw a retinue of servants standing there like a reception committee to welcome them. He looked at Sherlock, remembered how he had been laughing at his friend and Sherlock seemed to know all about his household and ways, then both he and his mate burst out laughing.

That laughter of theirs was one mystery even Mycroft Holmes couldn’t solve.


	3. Christmas Kinks (Santa Hat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If John organized something he always did so with style and panache!

John steered the car through the London traffic which was predictably worse just before Christmas. Next to him Sherlock was quite annoyed and agitated.

He had been subjected to three hours of what he called _pure and unbridled torture_ at one of the largest bookstores in London. A new book launch a week before Christmas and it contained two of John’s juiciest stories for the fans to lap up during the holiday season.

That wasn’t so much of an issue as was the fact that John had agreed to a little bit of ‘Fun’ during the book signing and of course, the grand introduction to Mr. Sherlock Holmes himself. The publisher and the super-wealthy owner of the book-store chain had asked them to don Santa Costumes and hats and give off a few small gifts to those who showed up on the book launch and purchased the hardcover book off the shelves. There were chocolates and cookies and milk to the kids, flowers and ornaments for the tree to the ladies, and Christmas themed keychains and bottle openers for the gentlemen who visited. There was a Photo-Opportunity at a price, a brief interview with the Baker Street boys and also a brief ‘mingle’ with the wealthier, carefully selected customers.

Sherlock abhorred crowds, noise and people. He secretly craved for attention but could not stand it. Naturally this experience, even those two short hours, had drained him out. He had to hold babies and take selfies with swooning girls, answer questions for men who were curious about his lifestyle and intelligence and endure the outpour of affections from older people who found him cute.

So, when they stepped into their Kensington South apartment, a property they owned but didn’t quite ‘stay in’, the sleuth burst out into curses and short angry rants.

“One kid…. I swear that thing drooled over me and someone… one of those women who came in that noisy group, grabbed my bottom…. Another kid pulled my hair and went ‘Just seeing if it’s a wig’ and that fellow, some forty something guy made a pass at me……”

“Sherlock,” John said calmly, smiling fondly at his man, “We have been paid fifty grand each for this and it goes to charities. Remember? We pledged to do something good this season. This was such a move and now that it’s successfully accomplished, you shall be duly rewarded too.”

“Reward?” Sherlock raised a brow.

“Uhnn-hnnn.”

“Hmm? I sensed it when we came here instead of Baker Street. You usually bring me here when you know we could be…. Um, ahem…. I could be….”

“Heard???”

Sherlock blushed slightly. Actually he blushed rather easily, his pale and smooth skin acquiring that roseate color whenever John said something complimentary or something with a sexual innuendo hidden within it. Often John made such comments out of the blue, just to see the colors flush those exquisite cheekbones.

“Yeah, I am aware I am sometimes rather loud,” the sleuth admitted as they stepped inside the flat and John locked the door and headed straight for the bedroom. “Don’t be too long hon,” the doctor called out to him, “This boner I have is not going to help itself. I need some assistance from you.”

Sherlock was also hard but he was a bit hungry as well. So he headed for the kitchen first and was pretty glad to see the fridge semi-stocked. So John had planned this! Good man, he had some uses at least, beyond the usual pleasured in bed of course. Allowing some of the annoyance accumulated over the past few hours slowly leave his system, Sherlock happily munched on a chocolate and drank straight from a can of milk. He wiped the milk mustache with the back of his hand and sauntered back towards the bedroom, kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his coat, deerstalker and gloves in the process. He tossed them randomly here and there. _Someone would pick them up_. In his mind he knew that ‘someone’ was John but he never admitted it aloud.

“What?” He said with a poker face, staring at John who had stripped down to his underwear and was organizing the ‘usual stuff’ on the nightstand. Sherlock knew what they would be. Leather handcuffs, two types of lube, a toy, some honey, water to drink afterwards, tissue box, clean towel, some biscuits for a nibble later etc. “Isn’t it obvious?” John asked innocently.

“Not to me.”

“Go to the bathroom. Come out wearing what I have left for you there.”

“Oh….”

“Go.”

Sherlock walked into the bathroom and his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Even for the _normally conventional but sometimes kinky John_ , this was too much. There was nothing for him to wear aside from two Santa Hats and both were labelled, so he knew which one to use.

_One said – This is for the head._ That was the bigger one. _The other said – This is for the second head._ That was a smaller one with a funny string attached to it.

Sherlock dropped his clothes! With great curiosity he picked up the hats, feeling the softness of the fabric and the plush fur at the end of the items. If John organized something he always did so with style and panache!

***

John was already naked and in bed when Sherlock shyly entered the bedroom, wearing the hats! He wore one on the head and one around the loin, tied behind with a string. It bounced as he walked closer to the bed, indicating his erection. He was raging hard, just like John.

The rest of his skin, exposed to John’s hungry eyes, had flushed a soft pink under the horny gaze of his lover and housemate.

He sprang forward like a panther at its prey and grabbed Sherlock. A surprised yelp left the sleuth as he was pulled on to the bed and landed noisily on it, John already ravishing him with his hands and mouth. Sherlock lay on the pristine sheets like a buffet spread, noisy as ever as John worked him over thoroughly. He had seen the Santa Hats everywhere, he had witnessed them being put to various uses – from a gift holder to a decoration, but this was perhaps the best use of it ever. There was nothing sexier than the sight of that naked, tall man with a bit of the red and white on his head and between his legs.

Soon those hats were torn to shreds and Sherlock was on all fours, screeching and yelling as John fucked him like a man possessed. Both of them had visible bruises everywhere, toothmarks and hickeys and scratches. But who cared! This was winter and it was a season to cover up! Therefore, concealing those marks would be easy enough!

“Oh-Oh-Jawn,” Sherlock arched his back, his mind confused as to whether he should fuck John’s fist or push back on his cock as he was pleasured both ways. “Give it to me,” John commanded, “Daddy’s orders, follow it or you’ll have a spanked bottom.”

The words did the trick and Sherlock came helplessly the next moment, splattering it all over John’s hand. The blond man only had to bring his fingers up for a taste; that was enough for him to be swept over the edge, shooting right into his man’s arse. The way Sherlock’s inner muscles spasmed along his throbbing cock, while it pulsed out his seed, proved to be the perfect culmination of their lovemaking.

“You okay?” John asked as he parted Sherlock’s cheeks and cleaned him a little later.

Sherlock looked dazed still, “Yeah… I suppose so. Did you watch a porn film named ‘Santa’s Gift’ lately?”

John knew it was hard to keep things from Sherlock, the only downside to living with this man. So he confessed readily.

“Yes. That’s where I got the idea from.” He kissed his man’s bottom sweetly and was about to go dispose the tissues when a thought struck him. “Hey, how did you know about this?”

“Of course I watched it too, after I saw it in the recycle bin after you had deleted it from the ‘ _downloads_ ’ folder,” Sherlock snickered.

He showed a broken string and said, “I had even got an extra string to fit it around my groin, just in case the string attached to the hat snapped. And it did snap. Here, dispose this too.”

John scratched his head and grinned sheepishly as he took the string from his know-it-all lover. Hard to keep secrets from the great Sherlock Holmes but as long as Sherlock played along, who really cared?!


	4. The missing ring (Christmas Turkey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene is getting engaged and the ring is missing. Is this a case for Sherlock Holmes?
> 
> And there is a Christmas turkey involved

“This is not even a case,” John moaned, “We are wasting our time here and all because of your guilt towards her. When you married your nemesis you felt you let her down in some way.”

Next to him was Jim who didn’t try to mince words. “She still likes you and could use a good dicking Sherlock. You better give her that rather than take up this case like a total noodle.”

They were at a Christmas Eve dinner hosted by Irene Adler at her sprawling apartment in Chelsea. She was celebrating her first year together with a Hispanic businessman from Texas, Mr. Miguel Jesus Diaz. Irene was in America now and totally desperate to become an American citizen. She also wanted money. And a husband. And a life that didn’t involve trickery, blackmailing and debauchery. Therefore, after two years of searching and hunting she had finally found someone she was satisfied with. A man of fifty five, with an ex-wife and three kids, who owned stocks of some of the biggest companies listed on Nasdaq and also plenty of land in Texas. He didn’t want kids from her and she was glad for that, he didn’t have time for her and she was gladder as it gave her time for her own dalliances and he didn’t mind her spending his money, which obviously made her the gladdest.

“She is here to show off,” Jim said with a wicked expression, “But look at that businessman….!!”

“Normally I tell you to be kinder,” John looked at him, laughing at the ‘fiancé’ “But here I say, bring it on!!!”

Sherlock was not amused, _at all_. He turned towards John and said sharply, “We are hardly the ones to talk huh? You are married to an assassin and me to a criminal mastermind. So what if her partner is a bit fat and bald and only twenty years older?”

“Former, _in both cases_ ,” Mary and Jim said together and started to chuckle again.

For a moment Sherlock found the whole thing heartwarming. Only a couple of years ago this seemed like an impossible thing! Jim happily seated amongst his friends and totally fitting into his circle. Earlier he had struggled during a long dark phase, shortly after his projected ‘demise’, with a mentally ill Jim in treatment and the former allies of the mastermind nipping at his heels, his whole family against this alliance and John and the rest of his friends considering him dead. To see that things turned out well after all that was such a relief that Sherlock had become a changed man.

Earlier he didn’t care. Now he wanted _others to be happy as well._

With John settled and now a father and Mary Morstan by his side, Mycroft living with Greg Lestrade, Molly engaged to a good looking and smart young doctor and Jim and he married for a year, he wanted to put a tick against Irene’s name too.

So he had accepted her invite for the dinner party where, from right under his nose, one of the thirty guests at the party had stolen the diamond ring meant for her engagement. The delicious looking turkey was on the table, getting cold, the pudding was hot and ready to be served and the flutes ready for the champagne that was soon to be popped, yet no one was able to start dinner. All because of the damned ring that had disappeared from Miguel’s pocket. The box was still there but there was no ring inside it.

Irene was upset and issuing orders to her staff while berating and ranting at the same time. “I have got enough on my phone still,” she shook it in Sherlock’s face, “If my ring is not found I shall expose everyone, all of you here.”

“I hope it won’t come down to that,” Sherlock said with his usual stoicism, eyebrows slightly raised, “For I, Sherlock Holmes, am here to investigate. Give me an hour and the ring and culprit will show up, for sure. For now, instruct your bodyguards to seal the place and not let anyone out. Explain to them that dinner will be at nine and not eight.” Irene promptly did his bidding and as the guests scattered about the terraced apartment, grumbling and annoyed over this, Jim and John pulled Sherlock on the side. The sleuth of course was less than amused by this hijacking. “Let me go, I have a case to handle and the clock is ticking away. Only an hour and she will even do an exposé. 

“Turkey,” Jim said, grinning.

“What?”

“I just said it, go figure!”

“Jawn? What’s going on?”

“I dunno Sherlock,” the good doctor shrugged but his expression gave the game away, “I am only a sidekick to you after all.”

“Mary?”

Sherlock’s last resort was the smart woman who often acted as a stabilizing factor in Sherlock’s life, as a friend and confidante. But in this case even she seemed to be on Jim’s side. “I think you have the word Sherlock,” she smiled, signaling at Jim, “Once you have his word there’s no need for further explanations, is there?”

“Remember Sherrrlyyy,” Jim snickered again, “English is a funny language.”

Sherlock really wished he knew what was on here but, for the lack of a better option, he simply chose to carry on his investigations and not pay any heed to the playful Jim or the jokester John who were distinctly non-cooperative that evening.

Soon he began to deduce the guests and their background, one by one.

He had figured out that the politician and his wife were both having an affair and in both cases it was Irene who had organized ‘partners’ for them. The footballer was secretly gay and in love with his masseuse who was bearding with his PR agent. That’s why both the masseuse and the PR agent were here. The footballer’s wife was a pretty Polly with nothing between her ears and totally oblivious to the truth.

Then there were a couple of minor royals and their partners, looking for wealthy associates to fund their opulent lifestyles and drying coffers. They weren’t meeting with much success, if their expressions were anything to go by. Irene’s butler seemed to be a former henchman and wouldn’t mind grabbing a piece of good fortune in the shape of an engagement ring. He was clearly overworked and under-appreciated and under-paid as well. Irene’s assistant had elevated herself to her place, a mistress rather than a secretary, by marrying some sheikh. The sheikh was a total debauch and for sure used Irene’s contacts to get some underaged boys and girls into his bed.

Gosh, they were a creepy lot and their intentions sent up a _mighty stink._

But none of them seemed to have the intentions of stealing the ring. Even the butler. It wouldn’t solve his problems once and for all and he could have easily chosen a better moment to do it, when he had an alibi. Right now he didn’t and he was least likely to have taken a chance so foolishly.

Then Sherlock’s keen eyes fell on the turkey.

_Oh yeah!_ Why hadn’t he thought about it? Now he could see things, _clear as crystal!_

The Christmas bird, occupying the central spot on the dinner table, was the answer. The ring, cleverly slipped out of its box, had been placed inside the turkey hock. Irene had already spoken of a strange custom she had heard of from a native Indian woman she met in Arizona and how she intended to follow it. According to that pagan tradition during Christmas time the woman had asked her to chop off one of the hocks of the turkey, along with the stuffing in the cavity and donate it to someone poor and needy. Apparently this is the part of the turkey that signals misadventure and therefore getting rid of it symbolizes purification and propitious future.

So that’s where the ring was and that was how the ring was going to be smuggled out of the party. No wonder Jim had seen through this and was calling this _a non-case._

Sherlock rubbed the middle of his forehead and approached the table with rushed steps, muttering ‘I am such a numskull.’

“Sherlock, wait.”

“Miguel…..?”

Irene’s suitor was looking at him with a pleading, if slightly embarrassed expression. Sherlock instantly put two and two together and was about to open his mouth and deduce a whole shitload about the man’s background – how he was still in love with his ex-wife and how he knew Irene as a gold-digger and a lesbian, how he regretted committing to her and wanted a way out of this, desperately, but without damages for either party…..

But Jim popped up and stopped him. Behind Jim were John and Mary, both giving him meaningful glances. “Okay don’t say anything,” he began, in a low whisper so nobody but those four heard him, “Let me guess…. Or actually, give my verdict. That priceless ring was never meant to sit on her finger. You removed it before she could even bring up the engagement topic. That explains why the ring box is still in your pocket but the ring is not. You intend to re-propose to your wife as she and you divorced in a hurry and regretted it in leisure. You also want to compensate Irene for her loss and her trouble tonight. I think her payment is sitting there in that corner.”

Miguel grinned, “Jessica. Yes, she is a former porn star, now a casino worker. Very efficient and gorgeous. Like most Latinas. But Jessica is not all she is going to get. She is also getting a nice penthouse in Vegas.”

“Seems the payment is good and she will appreciate it,” Sherlock admitted, “Better than the ring. So I guess I’ll have to announce that the ring is lost then! But, I must say this was a damned good move….. For a few moments I thought I was the turkey tonight, totally stupid.”

“It wasn’t my idea. I just wrote to him.”

“JIMMY?”

So that’s why Jim dropped a hint and John was so insistent that this was not really a case for him! Even Mary knew and was dropping hints liberally for him to back off. But he had been too stubborn to realize that. “Yes, it was all his idea,” Miguel whispered, “Now excuse me while I go and speak to her, prep her for the disappointment coming up.”

As he walked off towards an agitated Irene, Jim grinned at him and nodded, “Yes it was me Sherlylocks. I have more or less given up my former profession but sometimes I do tend to help out a man or woman in need. So, I am guilty as charged. Even today I can’t resist the odd letter to James Isaac Moriarty, aka the spider, especially a letter that ends with ‘Please Jim can you fix that for me?’.”

“So what’s the payment? Tell me it’s a threesome.”

“With Miguel.”

“Christ no! I meant with Irene.”

“Nah, I suppose that’s for another time – the threesome I mean. For now the payment is this.”

Jim too out his left hand from his pocket and showed him the bejeweled item, snugly fitted around his little finger. It was a nice ring, suited a man as well. “You wicked devil,” Sherlock exclaimed and wrapped an arm around his husband, “But tell me, why would you get the threesome as a payment from Irene? She has no reasons to pay you for breaking up her engagement with the rich Texan!”

“Oh she will,” Jim said with supreme confidence.

“Is it?”

“Yes, once she realizes she could have actually had to see him naked, every night.”


	5. The Night Before Christmas (Milk & Cookies)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Sherlock meets an angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this Kidlock!

The pretty, curly haired kid with inquisitive green eyes and a rosebud mouth settled underneath the enormous Christmas tree in the family room of his grandparents’ stately home. It was at least ten feet tall and covered a diameter bigger than a circus tent. Ornaments sparkling all over it, lights twinkling away everywhere, a heap of gifts at its foot and several mistletoes and stockings hung up around it, the tree was indeed gorgeous that year.

But that wasn’t the reason young Sherlock was planning to sleep underneath it. From the base to the first branches, there was a gap of a foot and half and it was enough for him to curl up in.

The true reason was – He wanted to meet and greet Santa that night. _Santa Claus_ , the big fat old man who needed a haircut, needed to lose weight even more than that, who ‘judged people 363 days a year and rewarded them on the 364th’. Those were the words of his wise older brother Mycroft, which was ironical since Mycroft always judged others, always had shaggy hair and was definitely a well-fed boy. But when Sherlock had politely checked if Mycroft was Santa the angry older kid had complained to their mummy saying, ‘This slow fella just dared to call me fat’. So, without asking anyone else and risking their stupid wrath, Sherlock had decided to sleep there so when Santa came down, he’d catch the man in the red and white coat – _red handed_!!!

The milk and cookies had been laid out. The midnight hour was near. The stockings had been hung up. Now all that was needed was the old man…..

Zzzzzz!

Sherlock woke up with a jump. He could hear the arrival of the midnight hour, by the sounds of the clock gonging in the other room. Had he dozed off for some time?

He heard a thump, then a groan, then a gagging sound.

“Gotcha!” Sherlock jumped out and stared right into the face of an old fat man in the red and white suit, a sack over his back and glasses perched on his pudgy nose. His face was reddish from frostbites but his smile was intact. While he startled upon seeing Sherlock, he got normal quite quickly and held out his hand for a shake. “Oh Hello William, good to see you. Merry Christmas to you dear fellow.”

“Hello Santa…. May I call you that?”

  
“No, call me Eurydice. Just joking, yes call me that.”

He went and sat by the fireside though most of the fire was already out by then. “What is this?” He looked at Sherlock with a vexed expression. “Milk and cookies,” Sherlock explained, “They say you like it very much.”

The snowy beard shook as did the pot belly as the old man laughed. “Oh you can learn to dislike it if that’s all you get to have in all the houses you visit every year. As for parents, grownups I mean, I warn you! They will always stick to safety and rules. No adventure, nothing new in their lives I suppose. Not even assuming for a moment that Santa might like bangers and mash.”

He sat down on the armchair with a thump and put his sack down with a bigger thump next to him. Cringing at the milk and cookies he sighed, “Or maybe this doesn’t take too long to be prepared on a busy night. Never trust those grownups, they have learned to lie.”

He was still magnanimous enough to appreciate the meagre efforts on the ‘offering’ and picked up a cookie when Sherlock stopped him by grabbing his fat wrist. _Gosh, he was so warm and covered in soft adipose_. “Wait,” the young boy said, shaking his head from side to side so his curls bounced, “You don’t have to eat that Mr. Klaus. You said you like bangers and mash, don’t you? Well, I could get you that. Incidentally we had bangers and mash for dinner and two of our guests didn’t show up. They were stuck in the snow somewhere. So their food is in the fridge but I suppose they wouldn’t mind if something else was served to them tomorrow. I could heat that up in a jiffy in the oven. I do know how to operate it.”

“You really-really want to give me that food?”

“Uhnn-Hnnn.”

“Is there grilled carrots and peas with it?”

  
“Yeah, yes that was there too.”

“Gravy?”

“Yes, thick and rich gravy. Slightly spicy.”

“I can handle spice. What’s there to drink? Now that’s one thing about grownups I like too!”

Sherlock thought about all that was there in the fridge and larder and came up with a list of options. Santa could have almond milk, hot cocoa, eggnog, strawberry or kiwi milkshake, apple juice, cola, orange juice spritzer, ginger beer or lemonade. “Um….. mulled wine and eggnog are what my missus makes too. Doesn’t your father keep something stronger in his cellar, like a whiskey or a vodka?”

“I know he has plenty. But they call it a bar cabinet. I’ll get you.”

Later Sherlock watched as Santa ate heartily, sausages and mash and grilled veggies, extra gravy, plus half the bottle of vodka with some of the orange juice spritzer. He finished all that with a tall glass of water and picked up a carton of apple juice too. “For the journey,” he said.

“So you really exist?” Sherlock asked, finally getting to the questions he had set aside for this man who brought joy and cheer and gifts for all. “Well, what do you think?” Those brown eyes twinkled behind the glasses. “I think you do.” “Why?” “Because I believe you do.” “That is the answer Sherlock. If you believe in something, you see it as real. If you don’t, then nothing can convince you.”

The discourse proved to be quite enlightening and Sherlock was in deep thought when Santa asked, “So what’s the special gift you want this year? All the kids ask but you gave, you fed me, something special must be done for you. Just name it and it shall be yours.”

***

“I do bring gifts but not in the way you or the world likes to think. You know who I am? I am the man who works extra hard for the last three months and right up to Christmas day so his girl can have a new frock and his boy new shoes. I am the women who decides to save every penny she can through the year, even her monthly allowance, so she can cook an extra special lunch for her family for Christmas. I am the rich guy, who leaves behind a business meeting to be back with his family on time. I am the old woman who waits all year to see her children and grandkids on this festival. I make all these things happen, I enable the true spirit of Christmas. I ensure the adults can give you what you want, by giving them work. I ensure you can give them what they want, by giving you talent and good health. My gifts are not in this sack, but all around you Sherlock……..”

_“Sherlock? Sherlock? Sherlock? You moron, wake up and come out from under that tree!!!”_

“Whoa….” Sherlock woke up with a jump and found himself in a sleeping bag right under the tree. He looked around and saw Mycroft’s plump face, the faces of two of his cousins and heard the voices if his mummy and an aunt in the distance. His father was coming down the stairs and the butler and housekeeper were scurrying about, getting Christmas breakfast served in the next room. As Mycroft was about to grab him, their father Reginald saved the day. “Now, now, now Myc, you shouldn’t bully your kid brother.”

Mycroft backed off and Sherlock didn’t pursue the matter either. He was more thrilled to see that the time for opening presents was finally here.

As the sounds of wrapping papers scrunching and being balled up, torn etc traveled across the room, the mothers came inside smiling at their kids. Sherlock’s mummy patted his head and whispered, “I always tell you to eat your fill at the table. But you don’t. But I was impressed by the way you warmed up the bangers and mash and ate it as a midnight snack. You even cleaned the plate and kept it by the sink, bravo!”

Sherlock had almost opened his mouth to say it was Santa when one of his cousins tossed a package at him. Sherlock excitedly opened it while his mummy commented that this wasn’t a gift either she or his daddy or his uncles, aunts and grandparents had given. “Could be one of your older cousins. Cecile I think. She often doesn’t write her name on the gift box. Silly girl. She really should.”

It contained three books. A big fat book about the world, with pictures. The second one was for beginner magicians and tricks they could easily learn. The third one was a collection of whodunit stories. Sherlock loved all of them immensely and hugged them to his chest.

“Well, as long as you adore them so much….. it doesn’t matter who gifted them,” his mummy said and, after kissing the top of his head, got up to head to the breakfast room. Sherlock was about to follow when a fancy bookmark, in the shape of a ‘sausage’ fell out of one of the books. The words written on it made him smile, reassuring him that last night’s encounter had been _real_. He _hadn’t dreamt it._

_‘Beware of grownups’_

The very next moment he heard his father enquiring, “Hey, has anyone seen the bottle of Finnish vodka I had brought? It was yet to be opened. The whole bottle has _disappeared.”_

**Author's Note:**

> 10 fics - Will be posted randomly from today till the end of the year/month


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